


A World of Pure Imagination

by itstuesdayagain



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen, I haven't decided relationships yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itstuesdayagain/pseuds/itstuesdayagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You fall out of the sky into Beacon Hills with no concept of who you are, how you got there, or how to get home. The only thing you know for sure is that these people are from a TV show. And shouldn't exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The world is dark and quiet around you. Air trickles lightly across your face and ruffles your hair. To your right you hear crickets and leaves rustling and – Wait. Leaves rustling? Crickets?! Okay, you definitely aren’t in bed, then. You can feel the wetness of the forest floor – how did you get in a fucking forest?! – seeping into your jeans as you struggle upwards towards consciousness. In the distance, you hear someone shouting and footsteps running towards you, pushing through bushes and breaking twigs beneath their feet.

You finally manage to get your eyes open and as they focus you swear you can see … Dylan O’Brien? What the FUCK. Only he’s not all smiley like in interviews, he’s flipping out. As you focus on his face, you can tell he worried about someone who’s hurt. Oh. It’s you. He’s worried about you. Interesting. 

As you regain control of your body parts, you push his hands out of the way and stumble to your feet, fingers scrabbling on the tree to your left for support. Your back hurts like a mother – did you fall out of the sky?

“Hey. Hey! HEY!” Dylan yells. “Are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up? Oh my God, who are you? What are you?” he panics, peering into your face.

“Uh, buh” you moan intelligently. Well, that puts a damper on things. So he doesn’t know how you got here either, then.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, I do not need this right now! What the hell am I going to tell the pack?” Dylan whines, fingers trying to pull out his hair. Wait. Pack. Pack… Pack??!

“Stiles?” you gasp, voice still hoarse from … however you got here. “Stiles Stilinksi?”

Stiles/Dylan stops freaking for a half second and narrows his eyes at you, trying to get a better look in the moonlight. “Sorry, do we know each other? You know, Beacon Hills isn’t that big but it’s completely plausible that we haven’t crossed paths before. Because that’s the only way you could know me, right? I mean, I’m worried about you! You can’t want to kill me!” He pauses and sucks in a huge breath, watching you from the corner of his eye. “Right?”

You snort and push away from the tree, wobbly legs taking a few steps. As if you could kill anybody. Hell, the most social interaction you’ve had recently was getting into an argument with that old lady in the store a week ago. Yeah, she could have the last jar of Nutella … over your dead ass!

You continue to meander your way unsteadily across the little clearing you apparently fell into. Legs are working; you swing your arms with no bad effects. It seems as if every body part is in working order, nothing broken. That’s a relief!

Turning to face Stiles, you notice him trying to discretely text on his phone, eyes darting back and forth between the silver-lit trees and the screen. He seems cagey. On edge. As if he’s on the lookout for something.

Oh, hell no. 

Stomach dropping, you look up towards the sky with your heart in your throat. Of course, of-fucking-course, the moon – THE. FULL. MOON. – is riding high in the sky. And you’ve watched enough of this goddamn show to know what that means.

Damn werewolves.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck” you exhale. Alright, definitely no more late night snacks before you go to bed. Because this dream is jacked up. “Okay, listen. This has been great and all, dream meeting you or whatever, but I’ve got to be up in, like, two hours and there’s no way I’m gonna be well rested if I’m running around a forest with you all night. So, can we just snap our fingers and wake me up?”

Stiles stares at you, torn between turning his back to you or leaving it exposed to the dark, leafy beyond. “Dude, you are definitely not dreaming. Well, at least, I know I’m not dreaming. Unless you’re dreaming and enter our world and when we dream we enter your world. Oh, or!” he gasps, leaning close, “Am I being incepted? You’d tell me if I was being incepted, right? ‘Cause I’ve thought about this a lot. My totem would be my baby’s keys. Like, they’d spin or something, I don’t know. And, um - ” Stiles trails off as he notices you ogling him with your mouth open. “Listen, are you sure you’re okay? Because we’ve got to move! Now!”

You snap your jaws shut and nod dazedly. On the off chance that this isn’t a dream, you’d rather not die a bloody death in many pieces thanks to the teeth of a moon-drunk werewolf. Stiles waves his hand impatiently and starts to move into the bushes with you wobbling unsteadily after him. 

That’s when you both notice the glowing eyes and simultaneously stutter to a halt.

You check over your shoulder and thankfully there are no wolves behind you. Yet. As you contemplate fight versus flight, you can hear Stiles muttering out of the corner of his mouth, “Don’t move. Do not move.” You see a tree with low hanging branches. “Back away and you’re prey.” Yeah, you’re pretty sure you can make it before a wolf eats your legs. “Just try to make eye contact and pray that they see it as solidarity and not as a challenge.” Alright, you’re gonna do it. On the count of three. One. “And whatever you do,” Two. “Don’t - ” THREE.

You sprint for your life towards the tree, ignoring your screaming back. “ – run! Don’t run! Jesus Christ, the one rule!” you hear Stiles shriek after you. You grab at the lowest branches and think you can feel hot dog breath on the back of your neck. Pulling yourself up, you get your legs tucked under you just as extremely sharp teeth snap the air around your ankles. You plaster yourself to the tree trunk, body turned to jelly and unable to climb anymore. You pray it’s high enough to at least hold the werewolves off for a while if not forever.

Stiles continues to berate your stupidity from where he is still standing shock still in the middle of the clearing. “I told you – I fucking told you – the one thing – one thing – you shouldn’t do and you – dammit – did it anyway and – just – UGH.” He runs out of intelligible things to say and mutters under his breath, eyes darting back and forth between the werewolf circling your tree and the werewolf stalking towards him.

Breathing deep to regain your cool, you start trying to identify the werewolves converging in the clearing. Depending on when in their timeline you are, there could be anywhere from three to five werewolves total. You crane your neck to look down and the one circling your tree is definitely Derek. The one crowded up in Stiles’ space could be Scott but with the full moon casting such extreme shadows, the curly hair could belong to Isaac, if he’s part of the pack yet.

Focusing back on Derek, you notice that he looks like he might start trying to climb your tree, and not in the good way, any second now. “Um, D-Derek?” you whisper, voice raspy with fear. Derek’s head jerks up as his eyes meet yours, looking completely baffled that you know his name. “Hey, buddy. Listen, I know I don’t smell familiar or whatever but please please believe that I don’t want to hurt you or threaten you. I am so not a dangerous person just please don’t maul me all the way to death?”

Derek just tilts his head, still obviously contemplating your final demise, and you sigh and thump your head back against the tree with your eyes screwed shut. Well, this is it. You think to yourself. About to die and I’m up a tree in a place that shouldn’t exist and my only hope of not dying is that I might be dreaming. Great.

At that moment, you open your eyes, ready to fling one last plea for your life in Derek’s general direction when you notice two people standing on a hill a couple hundred yards away. Narrowing your eyes, you try to get a better look. If these two are more werewolves, you’re still screwed. But if they’re someone – or something else – well, that’s another problem entirely. As you look on, one of the figures points to a spot just beneath you. Peaking down, you see they must be pointing at Derek. He’s the only one close. Looking back up, you see the second figure pulling up a crossbow and suddenly things are much, much worse than they were a few seconds ago. It seems that you’ve got yourself stuck in the middle of a werewolf hunt. Without thinking, you throw yourself off your limb at Derek just as the hunter on the hill releases his arrow.

Derek grunts as you land on top of him, knocking him to the ground, and a searing pain like electricity shoots through your leg followed by an overwhelming heat. This tells you two things. One: you just took an arrow to the leg that was meant for Derek and it fucking hurts. And two: you definitely aren’t dreaming.

Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, motherFUCKER!” you scream.

So, not dreaming, definitely not dreaming. Your leg feels like it’s all on fire with an even hotter point where the arrow actually pierced you that can only be described as the sensation of molten metal being pushed under your skin.

Derek rolls you to the side, springing up and whipping his head towards the two hunters on the hill. As you’re jostled and dropped to the forest floor, the pain makes you feel like you’re going to throw up and pass out and the only thing you can do is whimper. The parts of your body that aren’t currently feeling like they’re on fire are heavy as lead and you’re left on your back, head to the sky, unable to assess the damage.

Some other werewolf, at this point, you couldn’t care less who it is, rushes over and after glancing at Derek, moves to help you.

“This is gonna hurt real bad,” they caution you. A small part of your mind identifies the werewolf as Isaac but as soon as he lays hands on you, you can’t think anymore. He rips the arrow out of your leg in one smooth motion and the only reason you aren’t screaming is because you can’t remember how throats work. You must be making some sort of sound, though, because Isaac’s hands are back and the throbbing flames in your leg are receding. 

Distantly, you hear fabric being ripped and then your leg is being wrapped and jostled again until you’re being pulled to your feet. You slump shamelessly on whoever is holding you up, not even attempting to get your leg underneath you. As your eyes refocus, someone must be leeching your pain again and you see a slim figure with a mess of dark hair sprinting at human speed towards you.

“What just happened?” the girl pants, skidding to a halt at your side and looking to Derek for answers.

“You didn’t tell us there were hunters in town, Allison.” Derek barks. 

Oh, it’s Allison. So, she didn’t shoot you. And she’s not mad at any of the pack either. That narrows down the time frame a little bit. Either her mother hasn’t died yet or Allison’s gotten over it. In you post-pain haze; you can’t really be bothered to figure out which one it is.

Then a thought startles you out of your haze. Allison doesn’t have anything to do with the shooting. She doesn’t know why there is any shooting. Therefore, there have been no weird disappearances or murders or maulings that the pack could’ve been framed for. The hunters shouldn’t be here. They also just shot an innocent human bystander. Or by-leaper, if you want to get technical.

It’s now that you begin to get a very stupid idea. Colossally moronic. Idiotic by immense proportions. But if it worked…

Shoving away from Isaac, you get an arm around Allison’s shoulders and she supports you automatically before startling as she realizes she hasn’t seen you before.   
“Okay, listen,” you slur at Derek, proud that your voice is only slightly raspy, “You and your wolfy buddies need to get back to the house or the warehouse or the subway or wherever it is that you’re staying right now. Me ‘n Allison got this. I can fix it.”

“Loft.” Derek manages, eyes wide. “I have a loft now. And how did you -”

“Questions later. Now you haven’t been up to anything lately, right? Nothing that be blamed on you and end up getting you killed?”

“No.” says a new voice. Boyd has joined the group since you last looked around and spoke up since everyone else seems content to just stare at you, jaws dropped. Well, that rounds the group out at six; Boyd, Isaac, Allison, Derek, Scott, and Stiles. Jackson, Erica, and Lydia aren’t around but you can almost remember reading that Jackson and Erica left the show and you can’t imagine Lydia running around at night so this lineup makes the most sense.

“Okay,” you mumble, turning Allison and staggering towards the hunters still at the top of the hill, probably waiting to see if they need to call in more help or resume shooting. “Okay,” you repeat, getting your wits about you, “We’re going to go talk to them and you are going to the loft and then we’re meeting up later ‘cause I have a shit-ton of questions and you are answering them all.”

“What are you going to say?” Derek demands. You stop limping for a second and look back over your shoulder. For the most part, the group seems pretty gob smacked still but Derek at least seems to be back to all his alpha glory and more than a little pissed off that you’re attempting to give him orders.

You sigh, “Well, first I’m going to yell at them a lot because they shot me. And I’m human! I mean, hello? Totally rude. And it hurts like a bitch.” You stand, or lean, really, a little straighter, the pain receding as you’re energized with anger towards the son of a bitch that shot you. “Then Allison is going to tell them that they have no right to be here without asking permission because of territory or something. Can you swing that?” you ask, looking back towards Allison.   
Now that she’s caught up with what you’re planning to do, she’s nodding and completely on board. “Yes, the pack hasn’t done anything suspect and it’s at least good manners even if it’s not necessarily the rules for them to ask my family’s permission before hunting in our town.”

“Perfect. Now let’s go talk to them before I pass out and throw up. On everything. Simultaneously.” The two of you return to your awkward shuffle-step pace up the hill before Derek shouts, “Why should we trust you?”

“If Allison and I don’t distract them from following you now, they’re just gonna follow you back to your place and try to kill you again there. You don’t have to trust me, just don’t be a pain. Get your asses to safety.” You toss back over your shoulder. You can hear Derek huff but then there is a crunching of leaves and you know they’ve gone.

“Great,” you mutter, “Now let’s see if this’ll actually work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it's short and cliffhanger-y but I'm working on Chapter 3 as we speak. Er, read... write? Whatever.  
> Do you like it?

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little something I've had sitting in my brain for a while and I thought I should share. I'm trying to keep this as ethnically, nationally, and gender-ly (?) neutral as possible but I am a white American girl so ... I may not be completely successful all the time.
> 
> If this is something you like/want more of, I'd really appreciate feedback. Thanks!


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